The Sinner and the Saint
by RunningInAir
Summary: Twelve years after the war, Draco and Hermione find themselves unlikely partners in a mission for the Aurors. The Remnant, the remaining Death Eater faction, is still very much active and they must discover their newest plot before it's too late. Emotions run high as they are each others sole companion in the face of much adversity. (Rated M for language and future sexual content.)
1. Rough Beginnings

Chapter One

_Not again._

_Burning. Screams. Blinding sears of pain. Bodies._

_"Don't look, Draco…" His mother's pleading voice only served to direct his attention towards the dead…they were everywhere: piled up on the tables in the Great Hall, being pulled into the school, littering the grounds in pieces…_

_ He turned his head to the side and promptly emptied the contents of his stomach onto the grass. The stench was over-powering. They would have to burn their clothes. If only he could burn the images from his brain, as well…_

_ The reassuring hand of his father was on his shoulder, a touch he had not felt in years. He looked up as he wiped his mouth on his ruined suit, searching the eyes that were ever the same shade of grey as his own. He found sympathy, pity, fear, insanity…_

_ His mother gripped his hand tightly, urging him on to the gates. Those who weren't grieving over the dead bodies of their loved ones were holding a macabre celebration in honor of Potter's final defeat of the Dark Lord. The Malfoy family did not belong here._

_ As his feet followed the path they had trod several times to the main gates of Hogwarts, he stumbled, his shoe connecting with something solid. He looked down._

_ His own body stared back at him, his eyes wide open with fright, glossed over with death, and his pallid features frozen in a state of shock. As he watched in abject horror, a horde of flies swarmed up out of his dead body's mouth, filling the air with their buzzes, coming straight for his eyes…_

Draco tore himself to consciousness with a yell, the echoes of which rebounded off the walls of his room and crashed into his ears, sounding so much like a lost child crying on the street.

He fell back against the sweat-soaked sheets, his throat raw, his heart pounding in his chest. Would he never sleep through another night? Twelve years. It had been twelve years since the Second Wizarding War had ravaged his life, taken everything from him. Twelve years and he still had these nightmares. The awful images began to dissolve into more horrific memories as he took some deep, steadying breaths. He closed his eyes to further block the remnants of blood and death. The waves of nausea began to subside and he heaved a heavy sigh.

He reached up tentatively and felt his cheeks wet with tears. He made a small sound of disgust and sat up quickly, ripping his t-shirt over his head and rubbing furiously at his face, erasing all tracks of his weakness.

Scowling, he threw his shirt across the room and groped blindly for his wand on his nightstand, his sleepy fingers clumsily knocking it into the floor where it clanked against empty bottles of Dreamless Sleep potions. He snorted in derision. Worst investment he'd ever made, he was sure. His "therapist" had told him they would work perfectly to get rid of his sleep-induced anxiety. She was obviously incompetent. Well, at least he could check off another pointless endeavor from his, "Things That Don't Work" list.

This was ridiculous. He was a grown man. Grown men didn't have nightmares, especially not from events that happened over a decade past. He rubbed a tired hand across his forehead, flicking his wand into the air and muttering an incantation. The numbers 6:58 flashed briefly through the air. He was going to be late.

"Bollocks…" He slowly clambered off the bed, air hissing between his teeth as his bare feet met the unforgiving, cold stone of the Manor. His warming spell had already dissipated. It was hard, he reasoned, for his magic to keep up with his nightmares. He was lucky he hadn't grabbed his wand in his sleep this time. Studiously, he ignored the burn mark in the wall just beside his armoire. That had been a bad, bad night. Stifling a yawn, he flicked his wand towards his closet, a pressed suit landing gently on the twisted covers of the bed, a jet-black pair of shoes zooming across the floor to accompany it.

He threw his clothes on and left his room in a post-sleep mess, the knowledge that his elf would fix it all up before he was halfway to the Ministry taking all care from the world. It was odd having paid help around the house these days. Many elves had been offended when the Wizengamot had ruled it prudent to begin to pay them once the War had ended, but many others accepted their new roles with increased vigor, determined to do an even better job since they were receiving weekly wages. The Manor had never been so spotless without a severe beating. It was…nice.

Draco huffed. Such cheery thoughts in the morning were unwarranted. The soft clip of his loafers on the stairs forcefully reminded Draco of just how alone he was right now. It was hard to get used to. His entire life there had at least been his parents here with a bevy of socialites, purebloods, and Death Eater supporters. Now, it was just him, the occasional female guest aside.

With a few lazy flicks of his wand, his breakfast began to prepare itself in the kitchen as he reached for the Daily Prophet still rolled up on the counter. He grimaced at the face smiling up at him from the newsprint and took an unnecessarily vicious bite from his buttered toast as it sailed through the air into his outstretched hand.

Working with Granger…he thought he might just vomit.

The world had changed since his graduation, if you could even call it that. The school governors had offered to send the seventh-years who had missed out on their final year of education to various other Wizarding schools across the globe, but only a few had agreed. Fear and uncertainty had reigned supreme for a long time after the war. Eventually, the Ministry decided, since most of the students had helped in the War in some way, they deserved to graduate regardless of the formal education they hadn't received. The ceremony had been so melancholy.

Draco had never heard of a graduation in which there was no applause.

It had been hard, life after the War. His father had been carted off to Azkaban to serve a three-year sentence. It should have been longer, most people believed, but McGonagall, the strange old woman, had spoken on his family's behalf, claiming that, while she could not deny their support of the Dark Lord, they had not actually fought anyone during the final battle and upon revealing his mother's treachery to the Death Eaters and all of her family, told the world that his family was partially responsible for Harry Potter still being alive today. His shock at the knowledge of his mother's actions, all to know that he was still alive in the castle, still gave him chills. She could have sealed all of their fates with her lie. She could have killed them all.

His father had not lived for long once his sentence was up. The dementors, temporarily increased in number due to the influx of Death Eaters into the Wizard's prison, had quite literally sucked the life from his aging body. The sadness at his father's passing was not inconsequential. Coming so shortly after the War, it had turned Draco into some sort of lifeless being. The few friends he kept – Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, mainly – had their own lives to deal with after the war. Though they were sympathetic, they weren't necessarily the kind of people to offer a shoulder to a grieving friend. The high-society of Pureblood life stressed private grief; problems were kept behind doors at all costs.

Without his father, his mother had gone mad. Refusing to admit her to St. Mungo's and become the gossip of the society she had once owned, Draco removed her to one of their other properties in France. It was quiet in the country there, and she was safe in the care of some Hospice witches. He would visit her as often as he could, more for himself lately than his mother. The nightmares were always worse when he was alone, and no amount of saucy witches warming his bed could make them stay away.

He took another bite of toast, grimacing as the burnt crumbs coated his mouth. Great. Once again his own thoughts had spoiled his appetite. With a flick of his wand, he sent his uneaten scraps into the sink, the plate crashing in afterwards. Giving the buoyant smile of Hermione Granger a look of contempt, Draco rose from his seat and walked over to the fireplace. He was dreading today more than most. It was unfair that after striving for so long to rise above the condescending whispers and hushed allegations, after finally carving out his niche in the Ministry, after spending years rising through the ranks of the Auror program, proving himself time and time again to those who still doubted his loyalties, that after so much time…he was going to have to work with Hermione Granger.

Did he still hate muggleborns? Not really. His biases and prejudices had fallen a bit by the wayside after he realized the true darkness of that path. Once the Dark Lord was vanquished once and for all and Draco realized he really wasn't going to be spending his life in Azkaban with several other members of his family, Draco had done a serious bit of soul searching and life evaluation.

He didn't hate muggleborns. He still thought himself better than them, but he no longer loathed their existence or hungered for them to be punished. They couldn't help being born a mud…muggle…anymore than he could help having blond hair. Genetics did not a witch or wizard make.

No, he didn't hate muggleborns…but Merlin did he hate Hermione Granger.

A pale hand reached into the jar of floo powder that rested on an ornately carved iron stand just to the left of the fireplace. Granger wasn't just a muggleborn. She was an insufferable know-it-all, a self-righteous woman, and a nuisance to anyone who knew her. She had been that way in school and nothing had changed, unless she was more annoying now than she was then. It had been bad enough to pass her in the corridors of the Ministry or, Salazar forbid, having to ride the elevators with her on some occasions. At least then they had been able to ignore each other completely. Now, though, she was going to be working side by side with him. The particulars of this case hadn't been explained as of yet, but Harry Potter, Mr. Potter Draco thought with a mental sneer, had told Draco to be in by 7:00 to discuss.

His grey orbs flicked up to the wall clock hanging above the fireplace. The words "YOU'RE LATE" were flashing in large, neon green letters. Oops.

With a resigned set of his jaw, Draco stepped up onto the brick lining, his closed fist hovering above the ashes. He loathed traveling by floo powder. It was messy, disorienting, and he always ended up with a terrible case of nausea, but the alternative…the muggle way…was unthinkable. Why they had disallowed apparition into the Atrium of the Ministry, Draco would never understand. They could call it "enhanced security" all they wanted, but it was a pain in his arse.

He opened his fist, the green powder sprinkling down around his feet. A grimace graced his handsome features as a few flakes landed on his shoes. What a bloody fucking wonderful start to the day he was having. He clenched his eyes shut as the green flames whooshed around him, teasing the exposed flesh on his hands, face, and neck with a slight tickling sensation. Why couldn't the whole journey feel like that? He tightened his grip on his wand as he opened his mouth, careful not to breathe in any of the dust.

"Ministry of Magic!" he stated forcefully and clearly. A split-second to brace himself before the familiar, and incredibly uncomfortable, feeling of the floor sweeping out from under his feet knocked into Draco, and he began to spin around and around. He felt, and nearly heard, the sounds of numerous other fireplaces whizzing by, but he didn't open his eyes until the sounds of scores of feet on tile met his ears. He held his arms out just in time, feeling himself do one last flip out of the floo and into the Ministry of Magic.

He regained his footing without trouble and pushed down the nausea that threatened to bubble up in his stomach. Pausing for just a second to siphon away the dirt and dust that had turned his black suit to a dusty grey, Draco joined the crowd towards the multiple sets of elevators waiting on the other end of the lobby. Potter wouldn't be happy Draco was late, but what was he going to do? Fire him? A laughable thought.

Ignoring his fellow patrons, Draco shook his head slowly side to side. He knew he was the most important asset to the Aurors. He knew the ways of dark wizards inside and out. There had been those who assumed that once the Dark Lord was gone for good, his followers would disperse or change their ways soon thereafter. They were all naïve and incompetent. Though it was true that there had been several conversions in the aftermath of the War, the harsh reality was that a lot of those who supported You-Know-Who, Draco still could not bring himself to say his name, continued to believe in the old ways. They had severed the head of the proverbial snake, but the body did not die. Generations of prejudice and cognitive grooming did not simply fade away from most. No, they were still out there – those dissenters who hated muggle-borns and wanted them weeded out, once and for all, from the magical bloodline.

The elevator dinged and the musical lilt of the feminine announcer washed over Draco as he thought back to those he had already hunted down. There was no massive army to fight and 'The Remnant,' as they had taken to calling themselves, were not as bold as the Death Eaters had been; but there were still muggle killings, there were still terrorist acts, and the latest news was they were attempting a mass meeting to enact some truly awful plot, a plot the ministry was desperate to get its hands on.

Draco assumed that was what Potter was going to talk to him about today. He was itching for it. It had been months since he had last been on leave for an assignment of any sort, and office work did nothing for his psyche. He had to keep busy. He had to keep moving. Every dark wizard or witch he caught brought him that much more peace of mind, that one step closer to final redemption.

The disembodied voice announced his floor, and Draco let out the breath he had been holding. Yes, he wanted a mission. He wanted to catch someone, kill something; he needed it. But was it worth it? Was it really worth having to work with his most hated peer?

Granger…

He turned the corner and moved steadily down the hall, his wand now stowed securely in his front pocket. As he reached Potter's office door, he faintly heard two voices talking in hushed tones inside. He paused, recognizing his superior's voice - the thought made him cringe - and a soft feminine cadence accompanying him. Taking a deep breath, Draco twisted the doorknob, finding it unlocked.

_Potter better know what he's doing._

* * *

Hermione Granger held her head high as she walked across the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic that Wednesday morning. Her classically unruly curls were pinned back in a careful style that left only a few oaken tendrils to frame her face. Her attire was neither too dressy, nor casual. She looked, and felt, good.

It had been a long summer, but not an awful one. A simple smile graced her mouth as she remembered flashes of Harry and Ginny's wedding. Harry had looked dashing in his tuxedo, and Ginny was an angel in her dress, the train so long it had taken several levitation spells to keep it off the ground.

As she passed the fountain, Hermione paused in her steps and her thoughts to appreciate the artistry. She had seen this fountain in two other forms previously. The original had been fine, the Dark Lord's version had been terrible, but this one she absolutely loved. Instead of purely magical creatures, or the oppression of muggles, this was simple: a globe; a globe of the entire world to show that they were all pieces of a whole. Beneath it was inscribed in shimmering gold: The Fate Of One Is The Fate Of All.

It had been Harry's idea, she remembered. She sighed happily, a new spring in her step, as she continued on towards the elevators. She would not think about her first partner at her new job. She would _not._ Oh, who was she kidding? The fact that Hermione Granger, the smartest muggle-born to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts, was going to be working on a dangerous case with Draco Malfoy, the bigoted, prejudiced sleaze of the Wizarding world, was not much of a secret – or something she could avoid.

A slight frown twisted her lips as she joined the small queue standing before the golden gates of the elevators. She had begged Harry for anyone else, but he had promised the case to Draco years ago, before it had even cropped up and since, technically, Draco was her superior, there wasn't much she could do about it. Ugh. Her superior, indeed. The only reason Malfoy had a higher job than Hermione, was that he had been in the Auror's office since they had taken their final exams, which admittedly was a bit unorthodox given the circumstances of their seventh year in school.

She sighed as the doors slid open and she joined the few other witches and wizards. At least Harry was the head of the Auror office. Surely, as Malfoy's boss, he could do _something_ to make the prat behave. It had been a long time since Hermione had spoken to Malfoy, and she wanted to keep it that way. She knew he had "changed" since their Hogwarts days, otherwise Harry would never have allowed him a job at the office, and she knew his past was extremely beneficial to catching those wizards and witches who still held to some semblance of the Dark beliefs in muggle inferiority, but she didn't trust him. Years of prejudice and bigotry do not simply vanish at the drop of a hat because you want them to. Her jaw set with determination as the doors slid open once more and the disembodied voice said, "Level Two." She knew Malfoy was up to something.

She knew it in the heart of her being, and she was going to find out what.

With a heavy sigh, she pulled her small handbag further up her shoulder. Despite her intelligence, she was not cut out to be deceptive. Her brain functioned in the realm of facts, not suspicion. She was no stranger to dark magic – she had, after all, hunted Horcruxes with Harry and Ron - and was there any darker magic than the splitting of one's soul to gain immortality? It had been difficult, but more than manageable. Her companions had been her two very best friends in the entire world, and she trusted them implicitly with her life. Draco? Not so much. She was going on an extremely dangerous mission, the details still unclear, with a man who had hated her since they first met, simply because of her blood - something she could not control or choose, even if she wanted to. How was she supposed to trust him with watching her purse, let alone with her life?

Her lips fell into a deeper scowl as the elevator stopped on Harry's floor. Well, she'd just have to be the bigger person. There was no need to even wonder if Draco would be pleasant, that was asking far too much of her imagination. She would just smile, be cheery, and give him absolutely no reason to complain to Harry, or anyone else in the Auror office for that matter, of her behavior or cooperation. She would prove herself to be the most valuable team member, even if it was Draco she would have to answer to.

She took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and walked confidently down the hall to Harry's door. For a brief moment, she paused and looked up at the embossed, golden plaque on the door: "**Mr. H. Potter – Head Auror**." A broad smile erased the worry lines on her forehead and turned her lips up at the corners. It didn't matter how long he worked here or how much he had accomplished, she would forever see Harry as the awkward teenager, hair always askew, glasses always broken, and all the responsibility of the world on his shoulders. They had been through so much together. It was incredible that they had survived, let alone risen through the ranks of their world to be so successful. Truly, it was a more perfect future than Hermione had ever envisioned.

With a firm nod to herself, she knocked three firm rasps on the door.

"Come in."

Her smile widened at his voice. How was she supposed to take working for Harry seriously? She clamped her lips tightly together to stop the threatening laughter from escaping before she walked inside, her eyes lighting up instantly as they found the bright green orbs behind the spectacles of Harry Potter.

"Hermione!" Harry pushed away from his wide, oaken desk and strode across the room, enveloping her in his arms and lifting her off the ground in a big bear hug. The laughter escaped then and echoed around the room.

"Harry! Put me down! Oh, this is so unprofessional!"

His bark of a laugh joined hers as he set her back on her feet, his hands still grasping her shoulders.

"It's so good to see you, Hermione. I've been bored off my arse for weeks! 'Mr. Potter, sign this. Mr. Potter, go to this function.' It's all I hear!"

"Well, you _are _the Head Auror, _Mr. Potter,"_ she replied, her voice stern, her eyes belying her seriousness. "You are the most important person here at the Ministry."

"Oh, shove off, Hermione." His grin widened at their easy banter. Hermione knew it had been too long since they had last spent real time together. With Harry always stuck at the office with work, Hermione always bouncing from one country to another as a liaison for the Ministry, and Ron always experimenting on new joke products with George, there was little to no time for anything else. It was a lot of work, but the Wizarding world was finally back on its feet and the Ministry was purged of all its corruption. They had taken the mess that Voldemort's power had wrought, cleaned it up, and completely revamped the Ministry to a purer state.

"I'll 'shove off' when you tell me what this assignment is and why, exactly, I have to work with _him._"

"Come on, Hermione. Not you, too?"

"What do you mean 'too'?"

Harry sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair, causing the jet-black strands to stick up in odd places, just as it always had. It was quite endearing.

"I'm just tired of hearing about the pairing for this assignment. You'd think I hadn't thought it through enough, as much as everyone badgers me on about it."

"It _is_ a bit odd, Harry," Hermione pointed out diplomatically. "It's no secret that Malfoy and I don't exactly get on well…or ever have."

"I know. I know. But this is going to be tough, Hermione." He looked at her seriously, his green eyes flashing with worry and determination. "This is the most dangerous mission we've had since I came into the office. I promised Draco years ago that when we got to this point, I'd give him lead, but he needs good back up. You're still the brightest witch, you know."

She rolled her eyes at the flattery.

"Yes, I know how brilliant I am, Harry. I just don't understand what's so dangerous. What are we doing? Where are we going?"

"I'd rather just wait and tell you once Draco gets here so I don't have to repeat myself, if you don't mind."

She held her hands up in a gesture of acceptance. With a shrug, she rid herself of her jacket and levitated it across the room to the coat stand, which promptly grabbed it out of the air. A glance at her watch confirmed the knowledge that Draco was late. What a surprise.

"I suppose I might as well sit. I see Malfoy's concern for punctuality hasn't changed in the slightest."

Harry sighed again as he retook his seat behind the desk, his wand flicking aimlessly at a pile of papers that began to sort themselves into several bins to the side. "Please, Hermione. Just give him a chance, okay? Believe me, it was hard for me to accept him at first, but he really has changed. He's done a whole lot for this department; he's caught a lot of the former Death Eaters that were at large and has rounded up a lot of The Remnant, too. All without giving away his identity so he can keep getting back into their ranks. He is the best double agent since Severus."

Hermione shook her head. "You can say that all you want, Harry, but until I see with my own eyes that he's not going to treat me like something filthy stuck to his knickers, I won't believe it." She took a seat opposite Harry and crossed her legs delicately over one another. "The past speaks louder than anything else at this point. I'll listen to him and I'll respect him, but you can't expect more from me than that."

Harry nodded, conceding the point. "Fair enough." His hands disappeared into a drawer briefly as he pulled out a manila folder, fat with papers. With a loud _thunk_, he tossed it onto the center of the desk. Hermione's eyebrows rose slightly as she read the upside-down label: "_**Authorized View Only**_**.**" That was certainly interesting.

"Is that – "

"Nuh-uh. Not until Malfoy gets here, I said."

She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine, fine. Hopefully he'll actually turn up soon because I didn't come here early to –"

The door opening interrupted her sentence. Her body tensed automatically as Harry rose again from behind his desk. "Morning, Draco," he said cordially. Hermione's eyelids slid shut as she braced herself for the voice she hadn't heard in a long, long time.

"Morning, Mr. Potter."

She shifted her body to cover the wince. He still sounded like Draco Malfoy just…deeper. It was as if any second he would start hurling insults at her with that classic sneer on his face. Harry walked around the desk and offered his hand to Malfoy who stood just out of sight.

"If you'd like to take a seat, I'll get started so this can get under way as soon as possible."

Draco sat down in the chair beside Hermione's and it was like someone had turned on an air conditioner just on that part of her body. She could feel his icy stare going all the way through her. She turned and found herself face to face with his grey gaze. Oh, yeah. It was still the same ol' Malfoy.

_Remember what you promised yourself, Hermione. _

Struggling with all her might, Hermione managed a polite nod. He didn't return it. Well, had she really expected him to? Resigning herself to this horrible meeting, she turned and focused all of her attention on Harry. She could ignore Malfoy for this briefing and then corner him in the hallway to set everything straight. They may hate each other, but she would not allow those feelings to compromise the mission they had to complete. Work came first – always.

* * *

Draco locked his jaw to keep his tongue in check. He hadn't expected it to be this hard to sit beside her and not say something insulting, if only to provoke her. Old habits died hard, he supposed. He noted the tenseness of her posture as she fidgeted in the chair next to him. Apparently she was just as uncomfortable with this assignment as he. That was good. Maybe he could use that to his advantage. It was instinct to find the weakness of his adversary and exploit it. Even if Granger was on his team for this, she was no friend of his. He didn't doubt her competence, he knew how brilliant she was, but being smart and good with spells didn't always count so much on these missions. One had to be discreet, deceptive, and cunning, all things that Draco had been bred to do since birth. Was it in Granger's capacity to do those things? Somehow, he doubted it.

"So, what's this big secret assignment?" He asked Harry. The big file had definitely caught his attention as soon as he walked in. "I'm assuming we've found a new way to infiltrate The Remnant?"

"Well, sort of. You're still trusted in their circle, right?"

Draco half-shrugged. "Mostly. The innermost loop is still closed off to me. Too many of them remember that my dear mother directly lied to the Dark Lord. Granted, they don't believe the sins of the parents pass on to the son, but they are still too wary to let me in on every little secret and detail." It was extremely frustrating. Living a double life such as this was not an easy task, but Draco felt he was doing a fair job. Every day his thoughts strayed to Severus Snape and how he had done the exact same thing. It was the one thought that kept him grounded, sometimes. Yes, Severus had died in a most unpleasant manner, but he had been a huge asset to the Order of the Phoenix, even though none of them had truly trusted him until the end – save Dumbledore, of course.

"Right. Well, we've discovered the location of this big meeting they've been planning."

"I already told you it was going to be in the States."

"Yes, but we had to double check. We always double check, Draco."

He nodded.

"Wait, the States? As in the United States?"

"No, Granger, the States of Dark Magic," he answered sarcastically. And he thought she was the 'brightest witch of their age' and all that. Clearly, that didn't count towards common sense.

"Draco."

He sighed at the warning in Harry's tone. There was no helping it.

"Sorry."

He wasn't.

Harry nodded anyway and continued, "Yes, Hermione. The Remnant has apparently decided that anywhere in or near England or Scotland is too risky. We've got them paranoid, and rightly so, so they're looking for new, unconventional places to hold large meetings such as this. They've never gone to the United States before, so they figure we won't expect it." A slight glint twinkled in his eyes. "They're wrong."

Hermione's fingers began a very annoying tapping rhythm on the arm of her chair and it was all Draco could do to not yell at her to stop. What was wrong with him? He certainly hadn't expected this much hatred. This was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated. "That makes sense, I suppose. The element of surprise is often a winning tactic in battles."

"Right. So, you two are going to travel to the States and try to get inside the group and find out what this big plot is they've kept under wraps for so long."

"Uh, what? You're joking, right?"

"No, Draco, I'm not joking. Is there a problem?"

"Well, yeah." He jerked a thumb in Granger's direction. "She isn't exactly inconspicuous. Everyone in the Wizarding world knows who she is and what she looks like. There's no way in hell they're going to just let her waltz on in like it's no big deal." This was ridiculous.

"Obviously. That's why your first task is to track down Pansy Parkinson. Once she is captured, her hair will be added to a month's supply of Polyjuice potion. Hermione will be going with you in disguise."

Draco stopped and thought about it. Truthfully, it actually wasn't a bad idea. It would be a bit tricky at first, because Granger didn't know the first thing about imitating Pansy, but his old childhood friend had never been captured by the Ministry and so was still completely trusted in the darker group. He looked sideways at the brunette beside him. She didn't look too happy about that prospect, but didn't complain either. He wondered if she knew the nuances of his and Pansy's relationship and how they would be expected to act around each other. Fantastic.

He rubbed a hand over his forehead. This was already giving him a headache. "Has there been any word on where Pansy is right now?"

Harry shook his head. "Not even a whisper. It'll be up to you, Draco, to locate her. You two go way back. I'm sure you'll have an easier time of it than anyone else."

"Well, let's get to it then, shall we?"

Draco looked incredulously at Granger as she stood up. "Wait, wait, wait. I don't think I need you for this part. I can handle Pansy on my own."

Hermione scowled and fixed him with her classic stare. "Unfortunately for you, we're partners in this, which means I go where you go." She was not going to start this out letting him boss her around and push her out of everything. "The way I see it, this whole thing depends on securing her and getting her hair. That means I'm coming with you to ensure it gets done properly." She felt a small bit of satisfaction as Malfoy rolled his eyes and sighed in resignation.

"Fine. Let's just go." He stood and briefly offered his hand to Harry in goodbye before he turned on his heel and swept from the room. Hermione watched him go, a bad taste in her mouth. This was going to be extremely unpleasant.

"You better go, Hermione," Harry said. "I don't think he plans on waiting for you."

She sighed and grimaced briefly in his direction. "I suppose you're right." In quick strides she edged around his desk and wrapped her arms around his neck in a swift hug before grabbing her bag and coat. "Bye, Harry," she hollered over her shoulder as she rounded the doorway into the hallway, barely catching a glimpse of Malfoy's retreating back boarding the elevator.

"Oh no you don't," she muttered under her breath and she took off at a fast jog to reach the golden grates just before they slid shut. It was just the two of them inside. She huffed out a breath as they began to move. "This is just going to be more awful if you start trying to escape from me at every turn, Malfoy."

He choked out a laugh. "Yes, because I'm sure you are so eager to be in my company."

Hermione growled and brandished her wand around in a circle, causing the elevator to screech to a stop. Draco eyed her warily. Good. He needed to be aware of how dangerous she could be. She took a step towards him, closing the distance between their bodies, getting right up in his face. "Now you listen to me, Malfoy. I know that you don't want to work with me, and you better believe I sure as hell don't want to work with you, but we're both going to have to just suck it up and deal, because that's the situation we're in. We're going to be immersed in some dangerous situations together and if I can't trust you to have my back, we're going to be in a mess of trouble before we can say 'Quidditch.' Everyone keeps telling me how much you've changed, but I don't see it. All I see when I look at you is that pale-faced, pointy-nosed prat who bullied me and all of my friends at school. I still see the Death Eater." She chose to ignore the way his right hand strayed towards his left arm. "You don't have to prove yourself to me, because I trust Harry and his judgment, but I swear to Merlin if you start pushing me out and leaving me behind, I will make your life a living hell for as long as we're partners. Do you understand me?"

Draco narrowed his eyes, his chest heaving with rage at being addressed in such a manner. Who the hell did Granger think she was? No one talked to him like that. No one.

"No, _you_ listen to _me_, Granger. I have busted my ass for this Ministry. I have risked my neck over and over to bring down some seriously dangerous wizards and witches all to make our world a little safer for people like _you_. So don't you dare climb up on your high horse and tell me how you see me. I don't give a flying fuck, to be perfectly honest, what you think about me. I'm in charge of this mission. I decide what you do and where you go. No one else, _me_. So before you get in my face and make false accusations of my motives and personality, check yourself. I won't tolerate that kind of blatant disrespect. Is _that_ clear?"

Hermione swallowed. Okay, that was fairly terrifying. His eyes were flashing with anger and rage and she could feel the tension in his body as he struggled not to reach for his wand. She stiffened her posture and shoved her wand back into her pocket, the elevator beginning to descend back down to the Atrium once again. With a step back, she increased the distance between them. Her head bobbed once in a conceding nod. He was right, to a point.

"Fine."

"Good." As soon as the doors slid open, he exited, heading straight for the row of fireplaces along the opposite wall.

"Where are we going?"

"The Manor. I've got to get a couple things together before we go after our target."

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek as she considered that. She hadn't been inside the Manor since that horrible night when Bellatrix…she shivered slightly and rubbed the inside of her left arm. The irony of the placement of those scars did not go past her. That awful woman had picked the spot on purpose, she knew.

"Do you have any idea where she might be?"

Draco grabbed a fistful of floo powder and stood before the grate as he considered answering her. Well, they were partners, right? So, she should know what he knew, as much as he wanted to just hex her and leave…

"I'm not one-hundred percent, sure, but I'm going to hazard a guess that she's still lurking around London somewhere. She's not very brave, but she's not stupid, either. She'll want to stay close to her family, but not so close that the Ministry can locate her."

Hermione nodded as she grabbed her own powder and stood at the next fireplace down. "See you in a bit, then."

Draco didn't answer. He stepped among the ashes, declared his destination, and got swept away towards his home. As he spun around in the strange dimension of travel, he gritted his teeth. He had known that working with Granger was going to be difficult, but he hadn't counted on his entire body rebelling against her presence. How was he going to survive this? When he exited his own fireplace and dusted himself off, he instantly knew something was wrong. There was no physical evidence of it, but he _felt _it deep in his bones. Someone was in his house that certainly didn't belong.

As soon as Hermione appeared, he grabbed her arm and pressed his hand over her mouth, silencing her. Her eyes went wide at the rough handling and she automatically reached for her wand. Draco shook his head and gestured behind him and down the hallway with his head. He mouthed, "_someone's here_." When she nodded against his hand, he released her, the seriousness of the situation keeping him from the desire to wipe his hands off after the physical contact. They both went for their wands and drew them out in silence. Where was his house elf? He looked in the kitchen as they slowly made their way down the hall. His plate and breakfast scraps remained in the sink. Not a good sign.

He looked back briefly at Hermione, seeing the determination in her eyes, her mouth forming silent words over and over. She must be reciting spells. A cold wave of air washed over him and he shuddered. Location spells felt so strange. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and then looked back at Draco. Upstairs.

His hand tightened on his wand as he gained the flight of steps and slowly went up one by one, thankful his entire house was stone – no creaking wood to give them away. At the landing, a small form to his right caught his attention. _Milly._ His house elf was curled up on her side, unmoving. With his eyes down the other side of the hall, he motioned to Hermione. He needn't have. She rushed over to the fallen house elf and immediately checked for a pulse. Instantly, he could tell she was still alive by the relaxed exhale from Granger. He was a little surprised at how much relief he felt. It would have been extremely lonely in this big Manor without the little elf running around, badgering Draco constantly about leaving his belongings strewn about. Over the years, she had really been his main companion and he become rather fond of her and her presence.

Hermione's wand glowed briefly with a rose-colored light and she swept it over Milly's body. Draco raised an eyebrow when she stood to join him once the light had faded out completely. She mouthed, "_Healing spell_." He nodded and pointed with two fingers down the long stretch of hallway that culminated at his closed bedroom door then indicated each of the four other doors, two to each side, which lined the ornate rug that ran down the entire length. She nodded back and they resumed their inspection. The master bathroom was the first door on the right and it was already open. Wand first, Draco stepped through the doorway, his trained eyes sweeping over every inch of the room. Empty. The first door to the left was just a closet full of shelves of towels, candles, spare soap, and other various bathroom necessities. Though it was too small for a full-sized person to effectively hide in, he checked it anyway, for thoroughness' sake. The next two rooms, a guest bedroom and an office area, were both empty as well. It just figured that the intruder would be in his bedroom.

He didn't keep anything exceptionally valuable in his house, and as far as personal effects went, he didn't really have any. The things he held most dear were pictures – mostly of him and his parents. There would be no reason for anyone to want those. What could they possibly be here for?

With a deep breath, he reached for the doorknob, turning it slowly away from the frame. He pushed it open, his body remaining in the hallway for safety sake…and nothing happened. He frowned and pricked his ears slightly straining for sound. Silence. This was interesting. Briefly, he looked back at Hermione and she nodded once. Her eyes were wide in the semi-dark hall, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip, but her grip on her wand was firm and unwavering. Draco set his shoulders and, as one, they burst into the bedroom.

"_Protego!"_ Hermione's shield spell came up just in time as a stunning curse came flying at Draco from the far corner. There was a brief flash of dark hair and Draco's instincts took over.

"_Petrificus totalus!" _His body-bind hex hit the intruder square in the chest, knocking whoever it was backwards with a loud thud onto the stone, the throw hardly cushioning the impact. Hermione dissipated her shield as they both gave the room a once over, assuring themselves there was no one else, before approaching the fallen form. Simultaneously, the both froze as recognition hit them. Hermione was the first to unfreeze and she knelt down beside the form, staring in confusion at the all-too-familiar features. She held her wand over the immobile form, "_Ennerv-"_

"What are you doing?!" Draco exclaimed, cutting her incantation short. "You can't just wake him back up. He attacked us!"

Hermione sighed but aimed her wand at the captive's wrists instead, "_Incarcerous_." Ropes flew from the tip, binding tightly. "Better?"

"Yes," he replied stiffly.

She nodded and once again held her wand over the prone body. "_Ennervate_."

The dark-haired, wide-eyed form of Oliver Wood stirred immediately, his gaze flicking between the two of them rapidly, his rate of respiration increasing by the second.

"Calm down, Oliver. It's me. It's Hermione. You're alright."

"He doesn't look alright to me," Draco muttered.

Hermione ignored him. "Can you tell me why you're here?"

"My wand! Where's my wand?! I must destroy you!" He began to writhe on the floor in frantic, spasmodic movements, trying in vain to break the ropes keeping his wrists together.

Draco's eyes searched the floor until he located the object in question and deftly picked it up, stowing it in his back pocket for the time being. "He's bewitched, Granger."

"Yes, Malfoy, I can see that." She tried again. "Oliver! Look at me." Suddenly, their old schoolmate froze, his eyes fixing on Hermione's, recognition flaring up in them.

"Hermione! Quick! He's right behind you! Kill him! We've got to kill Draco Malfoy!"

Draco's blood went cold in his veins at the fanaticism behind those words. Somehow was definitely hell-bent on his death. "What the –"

"Who told you that, Oliver?" Hermione pressed. "Who wants Draco Malfoy to die?"

He shook his head back and forth faster and faster. "Can't say. Can't say. Just have to. Just have to kill him." He wrested himself to a sitting position, his hands still bound behind his back, and began to rock back and forth, repeating the same words over and over. Hermione frowned. Someone was obviously controlling him, but whom? She stood and stepped next to Draco.

"Any ideas who might want you killed?"

Draco snorted. "It'd probably be easier to tell you who _doesn't_ want me killed." He shrugged.

Hermione tapped her chin with a finger as she watched Oliver rocking in the floor. It was strange. She had heard of his disappearance, of course. It was widespread news that Oliver Wood, one of the best keepers professional Quidditch had seen in ages, had just not shown up to a game several months ago. The Ministry had been on the lookout for him ever since, but foul play hadn't really been suspected. Why would anyone want to kill Oliver Wood? He had no real ties to anyone who opposed The Remnant. He was an all-around good guy and friend to many, but wasn't exceptionally close to anyone.

Then again, that could be exactly why whoever had done this had picked him. He was rather inconspicuous in a crowd, unless it was a crowd of avid Quidditch fans. It wouldn't be odd for him to be around this area, either, considering his family still resided nearby. Often times, the best place to hide was in plain sight.

"Hold on just a second." Draco disappeared down the hallway, returning quickly with a small vial in his hand. Hermione recognized the clear potion inside it immediately: veritaserum. Draco unceremoniously grabbed Oliver by the chin, forcing his mouth open and dropping three drops onto his tongue. He waited a moment before beginning the questioning, "Where are you?"

"Malfoy Manor."

"Why are you here?"

"To kill Draco Malfoy."

"Who sent you?"

He twitched twice as the potion fought against the binding of the spell, but finally he said, "Pansy Parkinson."

Draco straightened to a standing position in shock. _Pansy?_ His long-time friend was now trying to kill him. He turned slowly and locked eyes with Hermione. His stomach churned as he caught a flash of pity. He didn't need pity from her. With a snarl on his face, he turned back to Oliver. "Where is she now?"

"I don't know."

"Where was she the last time you saw her?"

"Severus Snape's old house."

He nodded to himself. He had been right; she was close by. Without preamble, he pointed his wand at Oliver's forehead, "_Obliviate._"

At Hermione's gasp, he turned to face her. "Problem, Granger?"

"How could you just erase his memories like that? He was spelled! He wasn't a harm to you anymore. Was that really necessary?"

"Yes." He didn't offer any explanation. He cast a quick spell to cut through the ropes and pulled Oliver along behind him to the fireplace, returning his wand to its owner's pocket, pushing him into the floo, tossing powder at his feet, and saying, "Ministry of Magic." Once he was whooshed off, he turned back around to find Hermione staring disapprovingly at him. "I don't need your judgment, Granger. No one else needs to know where Pansy is located, not right now."

She scowled but didn't protest. Thank Merlin. His headache was only getting worse. He fell back onto the couch, sighing at the comfort, his eyes sliding closed for a brief moment of respite.

"I can feel you staring at me."

"You're unbelievable!"

He opened one eye and regarded Hermione for a moment, her hands on her hips and her eyes boring into him, looking so much like a disappointed mother.

"What is so unbelievable about me, Granger?"

"Your complete lack of regard for others, for one thing! Now what are you going to do? Just sit there and take a nap?"

He closed his eye and folded his hands behind his head. "Did you have a better idea?"

"How about going to get Pansy like we're supposed to be doing?"

He laughed a humorless laugh dripping with condescension. "Don't you think we should wait until it gets dark? I'm fairly certain even Pansy will notice the two of us just waltzing up to the front door in broad daylight."

Hermione sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, fighting down the frustration building up in her. "What are we going to do until then?"

Draco sighed. She was obviously not going to quit. "If you're so itchy for something to do, Granger, why not cook us up some lunch?" He fought but failed to stop the smirk forming on his lips.

"Whatever, Malfoy. I'm going to go check on your elf." Without another word, she swept up the stairs and out of sight.

_Good riddance_, he thought. If she was going to be this demanding and obnoxious the entire time, he simply wasn't going to survive. He blew out a puff of air and tried to relax deeper into the cushions. There was no doubt about it: an afternoon spent cooped up in his house with Granger was going to be the longest afternoon of his life.

* * *

A/N: First Dramione Fic. Review and let me know what you think?

-Running


	2. Tea and Shampoo

Chapter 2

Hermione was still fuming an hour later, long after she had tended to Milly's slight wounds and made them both some tea. She hadn't even bothered to ask Draco if it was okay, or even offer to make him a cup. It may have been his tea in his house, but as far as she was concerned, Hermione didn't think he deserved any kindness from her. She had done nothing to him, yet he was determined to be a complete ass. So be it.

She sat quietly at the ornate wooden table in the dining room, gazing out the windows, trying to urge the sun to set faster. It was uncomfortable being in the Malfoy Manor. Every time she looked at the sitting room, all she could see was the bone-chilling form of Bellatrix Lestrange leaning over her and the feel of the agonizing pain of the Cruciatus Curse breaking through her body in waves of razor blades. She shuddered violently, nearly spilling her tea in the process.

"Would Mistress Granger like some biscuits to go with her tea?"

The petite house elf poked her head around the corner of the kitchen. Hermione smiled warmly at her. "That sounds lovely, Milly, but I can make them myself. It's no trouble."

"No! Mistress sits and enjoys her tea. Milly will make biscuits!" And with that she disappeared back into the kitchen. Hermione shook her head as she brought her mug up to her lips. It was a nice change to see an elf that wasn't living in constant terror around a Malfoy. In fact, it was rather surprising. Given Malfoy's attitude, she figured he was just as much of an elitist and abuser as his father had been. The horrible treatment of house elves had never made sense to her. She still felt the prick of tears in her eyes when she remembered Dobby. He had been so helpful and was the reason she had been able to escape this awful place in those darker times. How could wizards and witches physically, verbally, and emotionally punish those too-sweet creatures?

She took a small sip of tea, the warmth flowing down her throat and coating her insides with comfort. There was nothing like a good cup of tea when one was feeling down. She pulled her legs up underneath her in the large wooden chair (everything in the Malfoy Manor was so ostentatious) and cupped her mug in her hands, enjoying the heat radiating from it. A warming spell placed precisely on the tea kept it at the perfect temperature for hours.

Milly soon came bustling back into the dining room, setting a plate of biscuits and a small dish of strawberry jam on the table before Hermione.

"That smells wonderful, Milly. Thank you so much."

"It was my pleasure, Mistress Granger."

Hermione had just picked up a biscuit and began to slather some jam on it when she heard footsteps approaching. She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. She should have known better than to think that Malfoy might actually make things easier between the two of them and just stay away from her until they had to leave. Why was it so difficult? The Manor was more than big enough for two people.

He came right up to her, snatched a couple of biscuits off the plate, and then walked over to the large floor-to-ceiling windows she had just been gazing through, without saying a word. His hair was slightly ruffled from his short nap on the couch; the back of it stuck up in funny angles. It would have been cute if it had been on anyone but Malfoy. Hermione had long held the belief that any beauty Malfoy could possess was eternally marred by the dark and cruel nature within him. Milly came back in and asked if Malfoy needed anything. He shook his head in reply. Hermione was momentarily taken aback; there hadn't been a single unkind word to pass his lips. In fact, he looked glad to have the house elf's company, brief though it was.

It could not be said about Hermione that she was lacking in smarts or common sense. She was not quick to judge others and would often give second chances where others wouldn't. So, she sat there at the dining table in Malfoy Manor, inspecting Draco Malfoy with new eyes for the first time as he stood, his back to her, eating a biscuit and staring out the window at the spacious back yard.

* * *

He could feel her staring at him.

It took all of his willpower to not spin around and ask her what the bloody hell her problem was. He took another angry bite from the biscuits Milly had made. Made for _her_, he amended in his brain. His house elf was cooking and making tea for Granger. Who would have ever thought.

Judging by the placement of the sun near the west horizon, Draco knew it would be dark soon. It couldn't come any faster for him. He was tired and hadn't even been able to take a decent nap. He knew it was Granger's fault. Her presence in the Manor was disrupting all sorts of balances. His reflection scowled back at him through the glass. It wasn't bad enough that she was sitting at _his_ dining table in _his_ house and drinking _his_ tea, she just had to crop up in his dreams, too.

At least he had been fighting her in his dream. It had been an extremely intense duel and Draco could have sworn that he still felt the burn from a stinging hex she had blasted his thigh with. He had jerked awake on the couch as a flash of green light came for his face. How thankful he had been when he realized that Granger was not in the same room. His embarrassing gasp of air and subsequent heavy breaths had passed without witness, save for a sniggering portrait of his late grandfather that hung above the couch, but Abraxus Malfoy was certainly not telling anyone. Draco had already promised to take his portrait down and chuck it in the floo if he said a word.

Alright, enough rambling of the mind. He had to start getting focused on the mission ahead of him and not on his so-called partner. The whole game had changed when Pansy had sent that would-be assassin to his house. Had she really thought that Oliver Wood would best Draco in a duel, or even successfully catch him by surprise? If she did, she was more foolish than he thought and vastly underestimating his abilities. He hadn't risen through the Aurors' ranks through luck. If she _didn't_ think Oliver would kill him, then there was another purpose behind sending him to the Manor. Was it some sort of warning? Was she trying to send him a message?

He frowned in frustration. This was the hardest part of the job. He could sling spells and kill enemies with ease - his conscience had long sense died out. It was the deep thinking and problem solving he hated. It wasn't that he was too idiotic to figure it out, on the contrary he was very clever; it was just that thinking led him to dark places of the mind. Draco was a man of action. In the end, he supposed it didn't really matter what Pansy's purpose of sending that fool had been; he was going to find her, capture her, send her to Azkaban - minus a few hairs, and then be on his way somewhere else. He had no time for old childhood friends who could no longer be trusted.

His brow furrowed and his frown deepened as the sound of crunching interrupted his inner monologue. Granger was certainly not a quiet eater. He closed his eyes and slowly counted to fifteen, a trick that _usually_ calmed his temper and allowed him to think rationally instead of just reacting, as he was wont to do.

_1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…_

The crunching of her teeth on the biscuit stopped, only to be replaced with a soft slurp of tea. It was even _more_ annoying somehow because she was trying to be quiet and failing miserably. He couldn't stand it anymore. He spun on his heel, hurled the uneaten biscuit in his hand across the room to smash into the wall, and stared angrily at Granger. Her eyes widened in her face and she suddenly looked like nothing so much as a doe in headlights. It was disarming and Draco faltered in his shout for just a moment before anger overtook anything else.

"Do you mind?! I'm trying to think over here!"

She blinked once, twice. "I'm not stopping you from thinking, Malfoy." Her voice wasn't angry, or even defensive. She sounded legitimately taken aback at his sudden explosion. Good. If he could keep her on her toes, he could stay on top of the situation, her startlingly large, brown eyes notwithstanding.

"Your loud-ass chewing and slurping sure is."

Her cheeks tinted the slightest shade of pink with a blush, but her eyebrows drew together in indignation and insult. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Or maybe you didn't. I'm surprised you can here anything at all, really, over the sound of your own teeth masticating all that food in your mouth."

She gently placed her cup of tea down on the table, before pushing her chair back and standing up. Her back was erect and she pushed her shoulders back, trying to look as proper and pissed off as possible.

"Maybe you should have just stayed in the sitting room, then, and left me the hell alone."

"I'm not going to be captive to only a few rooms in my own house!"

"Fine! Then _I'll_ go somewhere else!"

She threw the remaining piece of biscuit down onto the plate and stalked out of the room, her body disappearing around the corner and down the hallway.

_Thank fucking Merlin._

Now, he had lost his appetite. He ran a hand form his forehead down to his mouth and just stood there for a moment, contemplating his life and how he had even ended up at this point. Wasn't his past cruel enough? Was it really necessary for the fates, or whoever was controlling this shit-hole of a life, to force him into a situation where he had to work with Granger of all people?

His anger continued to course through his body as the feelings of unjust punishment raged on. He really just needed a shower and to prepare to leave; there were several things he needed to gather together beforehand, a ritual of sorts before he left for any mission.

On his way up the stairs to the master bedroom and bath, he passed Milly spot-cleaning the stone and rugs.

"Does Master Malfoy need something?"

He forced a smile and shook his head. _Yeah, to be left the fuck alone._ "No, Milly. I'm just going to run upstairs and take a quick shower before Granger and I leave."

"Mistress Granger is upstairs already, Sir. Would Master Malfoy like Milly to draw up a bath in the downstairs lavatory?"

He froze mid-step, his foot hanging absurdly in the air above the next stair.

"She's _what_?"

Milly's pupils dilated in fear at the sudden change in tone, her slightly greenish skin paling even further. "Miss – Mistress Granger went storming past Milly, muttering about filth and how she needed to bathe herself, so Milly told Mistress Granger to use the master bathroom as it is the biggest and finest."

Draco's hand clenched the railing until his knuckles turned white. He closed his eyes shut tight. He didn't need to get mad at Milly. She had only been doing what she thought was best. He wasn't in the habit of talking to her about his private life, so she would have had no way of knowing how much Draco and Granger loathed each other.

Before he could ascend the next step, Milly had fallen onto her knees, grabbing onto the back of his ankle. "Please, Master Malfoy! Please do not hurt Milly! Milly was trying to be helpful! Milly only wanted to do what would make Master Malfoy and his guest happy!"

Without turning, Draco placed a hand on the top of Milly's head. "It's okay, Milly, I'll just – " Just what? What was he going to do? Briefly, the thought of bodily tossing Granger out of his bathroom in such an embarrassing state of nudity passed through his mind, but he'd rather not see her in the nude at all. Ugh. What a nasty thought. "I'll just tell her to hurry it up." He could still feel the elf shaking as she clasped her hands to his ankle. "It's alright, Milly. I'm not going to hurt you." Eventually, the poor shaken elf released Draco's ankle and he continued up the stairs to the landing. You'd think after so many years of peaceful servitude, Milly would understand that Draco wasn't like his father; he wasn't ever going to beat her or punish her for anything. He didn't have the heart to do those actions anymore, not to innocents.

He could hear the water now as he gained the landing, and his teeth ground together at the thought of Granger using up his hot water. It didn't matter that he could easily cast a charm to make his own shower warm; it was the principle of the thing. He let his footfalls become heavier as he made his way down the hall. He wanted her to hear him coming, even over the shower water. He may have opened his home, temporarily, to her, but that didn't mean she could just use whatever room she wanted without asking. Had it even occurred to her that he might want some privacy in his bedroom or bathroom? There were two other full baths in the house. Why couldn't she just use one of them?

A scowl seemed permanently affixed on his face of late, but if he was going to intimidate Granger, he had to look pissed – an easy feat considering how livid he was right now. He shoved his bedroom door open so hard that it bounced off the wall. The door across the room that led to the bathroom was just slightly ajar. Warm light and steam emitted from the crack between wood and stone, almost making his bathroom appear to be some other dimension, like the door was a portal to another world.

Gathering himself, Draco strode angrily across the distance, but just as he was about to slam that door open as well, he heard the most unexpected sound. Granger was _singing_ in his shower. Not only that, but it actually sounded _good_.

"_You got me so wild  
How can I ever deny?  
You got me so high  
So high I can not feel the fire  
And you keep telling me  
Telling me that you'll be sweet  
And you never wanna leave me side  
As long as I don't break these  
Promises  
And they still feel all so wasted on myself  
Promises  
And they still feel all so wasted on myself…"_

The lilting soprano echoed majestically off the tile walls of the bathroom, washing over Draco. Combined with the warmly lit steam escaping through the door, it was an incredibly vivid sensation. It had been a long time since something so beautiful had existed in the Manor. Draco was struck suddenly by a distant memory: before the war, long before darkness reigned over the Wizarding world, his mother used to sing. As she went about the house, she would hum little tunes or make up soft melodies that graced the halls, giving life into the otherwise cold stone of the large house.

So enraptured was he by the voice and the memory, that Draco was completely unaware the shower had stopped running. When Granger opened the door and stepped out into the bedroom, they both jumped and yelled. The billow of steam that accompanied her exit momentarily obscured them both from each other.

"Malfoy!" Hermione screeched when the steam had dissipated. "What are you doing?! Were you just standing there the whole time?!"

He was caught momentarily speechless. Hermione's hair was wet, the usual mass of curls momentarily tamed into soft waves of chestnut. She was clad in only a towel and the skin of her shoulders and face was slightly pink from the heat. The thought raced through his head that she looked…pretty.

"What? No!" He finally sputtered out, scrambling to get his mental ground back under his feet. So what if she looked decent coming out of a shower. Most girls did, didn't they? "I wasn't just standing here. Believe it or not, Granger, not everyone spends their time doting on you like your half-wit ginger friend." The comfortable haven of disgust and anger began to come back to his voice. Draco chose to ignore that he sounded much more angry than he actually was.

Her cheeks reddened further and the hands holding the towel around her body clenched the fabric tighter. "Don't speak about Ron that way, Malfoy. He's just a friend, and anyway, it shouldn't matter to you who is or isn't doting on me and I don't care what you think, regardless." She shoved past him, knocking into his shoulder with more force than he had expected.

"Thanks for asking if you could use my bloody shower!" He called after her as she passed through the doorway.

He took a deep breath and pulled his wand out of his pocket, flicking it towards the door to slam it shut and lock it. Maybe he could get a little peace and quiet now. His face was back into the permanent scowl as he walked into the bathroom. The mirror was completely fogged over and with a growl under his breath he cast a simple wiping charm to clear it. His reflection startled him. The arguments with Granger must have colored his skin because he didn't like quite as pale as he normally did. He shook his head and quickly shed his clothes. What he needed was a hot shower to wash off the frustration and anger. He had to clear his head before they went anywhere. Thinking of anything besides the mission was dangerous. It took one miscalculation, one distraction, and they could be caught, tortured, and killed.

With a quick tap of his wand on the faucet, blazing hot water shot out of the showerhead. He placed his wand on the counter by the sink and stepped under the heat, his muscles loosening the minute they were under the spray. There was nothing, _nothing_ like a hot shower.

One by one he picked the thoughts of Granger out of his brain and replaced them with different tactics he could apply to get to Pansy. With his eyes closed, his face turned towards the spray, he reached for his shampoo, squirted a small amount into his hand, and began to lather his blond locks.

_Lavender?_

He opened his eyes and looked at the bottle. That was definitely not his shampoo. Had Granger seriously left her toiletries in _his_ bathroom? With a snarl, he grabbed the offending bottle and chucked it over the curtain rod and across the room before scrubbing his hair furiously to try and rid it of the girly fragrance. It didn't.

He was damned if he was going to go after Pansy smelling like a fucking woman.

Granger had ruined his nap, his appetite, and now she had ruined his shower. This was not going to end well for her. He turned off the tap and stepped out, quickly drying himself off before grabbing his wand. He almost walked right out of the bedroom before he realized he was still nude. He nabbed his green and black plaid pajama pants and carelessly shoved them on before unlocking the door.

"_Accio shampoo."_ He caught the witch's hair product as it flew through the air and then stormed down the stairs to the sitting room where he found her sitting on the couch, her nose stuck in a book. The sight of her doing something so mundane and so perfectly _normal_ while he was raging inside only made him more furious.

"I think you left something in my bathroom," he bit out as he threw the shampoo bottle onto the couch beside her. She jumped at the sudden entrance and looked down at the bottle, confusion on her features.

"Well, I didn't know if we would be coming back here or not, so I thought I'd just leave it…there…"

She trailed off when she finally looked up and saw just how mad he was. Draco's grey eyes were flashing with silver, his wand was clutched tightly in his fist pointed slightly higher than the floor, and his bare chest was heaving with each breath. Oh, my. She swallowed hard as she tore her gaze from his toned stomach and arms, beads of water still dotting his skin from his shower. Who knew that Draco Malfoy would be so…fit? She realized her mouth was still open and she quickly snapped it shut. What was _wrong _with her? It had been years since she had been uncomfortable around a man. When her and Dean Thomas had ended things, she had sworn off men for years, focusing all of her attention on her career. Dean had been nice, but that was all. He wasn't passionate or extremely intelligent, and she didn't feel anything for him in the end. Her work had been more important that trying to find a stable relationship, or even a decent sexual one. She hadn't even been physically attracted to anyone in years.

Well, she was just going to have to get over it. So what if Draco was handsome? She had known that already, though she had never really given his physical attributes much thought. That didn't change the fact that he was an insufferable git who thought only of himself.

"You thought you'd just leave your personal belongings around my house? Get this through your thick skull, Granger, we are _not_ roommates. We aren't even _friends_." He pointed at the bottle with his finger. "I don't want to see any more of your shit around here. You understand?"

That wasn't fair. It wasn't like she had done it to purposefully piss him off. "Look, _Malfoy_," she stressed his name with derision, "frankly, I don't _want_ to be here at all so don't think for a second that I left that shampoo in your bathroom on purpose. I'm not devious or spiteful like you are." She snapped her book shut and stood from the couch. "So why don't you stop acting like I'm here to ruin your life? I wasn't the one who asked to be partnered up with you. In fact, I begged Harry to put me on anything else, but he _insisted_ we would be the best team."

Draco snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. "Saint Potter, always knowing what's best for everyone but himself."

Hermione was sick and tired of Draco thinking he could insult her friends in front of her with no consequences. She snatched her wand off the side table and aimed it straight at his chest. "Stop being such a prat, Malfoy. Harry doesn't think he knows what's best for anyone. He's doing his _job_."

She watched his eyes dart down to the tip of her wand and his body stiffened a fraction. A small smile of satisfaction briefly flashed across her face. It was good that he was scared of her. He should be. She knew without a doubt that she could best him in a fight.

He seemed to recover himself. The tension ratcheted up a notch as he dropped his arms and narrowed his eyes. "Are you threatening me, Granger?"

She fought a shiver at his tone. His voice had dropped several levels.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Malfoy?"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He took a step towards her, his wand arm still at his side.

"Stop. I'm not joking, Malfoy. I'm tired of you and your attitude."

He didn't stop walking towards her.

"Stop moving."

He cocked his head to one side and looked at her as his mouth turned up in a sneer that twisted his features into a mocking mask of handsome.

"Why? Are you actually going to hex me? I don't think you will, Granger. I think you know better." He took three more steps until his chest met the tip of her wand. She steadied her arm against the pressure. "Because you know that if you do that, you'll get fired before you can say _muggle born_."

His eyes bored down into hers and she pressed just a little harder into his chest. She knew it had to hurt, it was right in the middle of his rib cage, but he didn't so much as wince.

"What if I don't care to lose my job?"

"Then you're a fool and a liar."

They stood that way for a few seconds, but it felt like hours. Hermione took a deep breath and lowered her wand. He was right. She didn't want to disappoint Harry by not being able to deal with the situation longer than a day. She was smarter than that. And above all else, she refused to give Malfoy that satisfaction. She would not cave before he did. Oh, no.

Wait a second…she looked curiously at him as she sniffed the air. Had he used her shampoo…? Was _that_ why he was so angry? A laugh bubbled up her throat and burst out of her before she could stop it. Draco Malfoy smelled like lavender and rosemary!

He jumped slightly at the sudden outburst of laughter. "What's so funny?" he snapped out.

She tried to answer, she really did, but she was laughing too hard. Maybe it was the sudden release of tension, or maybe she was just losing it, but the thought of Draco lathering up with her extremely feminine hair product was the funniest thing she had imagined in a long, long time. She fell backwards onto the couch, grabbing her side when a stitch sent uncomfortable spasms in her muscle.

"_Granger_!"

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry." She brought a hand up and wiped at her eyes as she fought to catch her breath. "Oh, Malfoy." She shook her head and finally got her laughter under control.

"What, Granger?" She heard his teeth grinding together and she looked up into his face, the laughter threatening to start all over again.

"You used my shampoo."

His nostrils flared in indignation and his teeth clicked together. "Yes," he spat out. "Fix it."

"Fix it?"

"I can't wash the disgusting fragrance out. Fix it."

"Wait. Are you…are you asking for my help?" A grin spread across her face at the circumstance.

He glared at her. "Fine. Forget about it. I don't need or want your damn help." He turned on his heel and started back towards the stairs. A small pang went through her chest. She hadn't meant to make fun of him, really. She sighed softly and stood back up off the couch, all traces of humor gone.

"Malfoy, wait." He continued walking. "Malfoy! Come back over here. I'll charm the smell off."

He turned then, regarding her carefully. His eyes flicked over her for a moment as if he was assessing her seriousness. She stared back at him unflinchingly. He sighed under his breath and walked back.

"No funny business," he warned.

She nodded and picked her wand back up, indicating with a twirl of her hand for him to turn around. "No funny business," she agreed.

It took just a second to siphon out the shampoo, leaving his hair completely scent-free. Well, not completely. She had never stood this close to him before and her nose detected a subtle hint of male musk. It was almost woodsy. She shook herself.

"All done."

He stepped away from her immediately and turned around. His eyes flicked to the window briefly before he looked back at her. "The sun will be fully set in about a half hour. Be ready to go." Then he turned and went back up the stairs, a slam of a door indicating he had returned to his room.

With a huff, Hermione turned and picked up her book and shampoo. Hopefully this would go off without a hitch. She had a feeling that if anything were to go wrong tonight, it would automatically be her fault and then it would just be that much more difficult to work with Draco. Er…Malfoy.

She stowed her things back in her beaded bag. The small thing had come in handy several times over the years and it was just as good today as it had been when she first spelled it over a decade ago at the Burrow. It was stunning to think of all the time that had passed, all the things that had happened. And it still wasn't over.

She reached her hand into the bag, searching until she found the few things she wanted to keep closer at hand: a small bottle of veritaserum almost identical to the one Malfoy had used earlier, a tiny pinch of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder she had bought from George a few weeks ago, and a Spy Glass. She had shrunken it down so it fit comfortably in a jacket pocket, but wasn't so small that she couldn't see the faces in the shadows. She paused in her preparations to gaze into it, fully expecting to see Malfoy's face staring her down, but there was no one looking back.

Well, they weren't enemies anymore, right? They could be allies and still loathe each other. She repeated this to herself several times more as she set the handy tool down on top of her coat so she wouldn't forget it.

* * *

Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

Draco ran a hand through his hair as he paced back and forth in his spacious bedroom. What was _wrong _with him? When Granger had pointed her wand at him, her eyes full of fire and power, he had felt…something. Arousal? There was no way. He refused to be attracted, even physically, to that…that…mudblood.

He mentally recoiled from the thought of that word. It had been so long since he had used it. It felt…dirty.

He snarled and turned, pacing back towards the door. He was just going to have to ignore whatever that had been. He had gotten what he wanted; she had gotten the disgusting flowery smell from his hair. That was all that mattered. Now, he just needed to calm the anger that was still surging through his veins. He didn't even know what he was angry about anymore. He was just…enraged.

His mattress bounced slightly as he threw his body onto it, staring up at the forest green canopy. Get dressed, grab his supplies, and get the mission done. That's what he needed to do. That's what he needed to focus on.

He wouldn't think of the pair of big, toffee-colored eyes that belonged to the woman downstairs in his house. He wouldn't think of how expressive they were or the fan of dark lashes that framed them.

And he_ most certainly_ wasn't going to think about the creamy skin, so pink from the hot water, that looked so soft that it would feel like satin under his hands.

No, he definitely wouldn't think about _that_.

* * *

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I hope you all enjoyed it! The song I quoted here is "Promises" by Nero. It's a fantastic song and one that will have significance later on in the story. I suggest you all check it out. Well, review and let me know what you think!

-Running


	3. The Wilting Flower

Chapter Three

"Augh!"

"_Bloody fucking hell!"_

"Malfoy, would you get off my foot?!"

Draco scrambled across the ground to cover Granger's loud mouth with his palm. He grabbed her shoulder tightly in his hand and scooted them both backwards, off the cracked sidewalk, and away from the dimly-glowing street lamps. They had been gone from the Manor for, what, a whole _five fucking seconds _and Granger was already going to blow the whole damn assignment.

Once they were adequately hidden in the shadows of the alley, Draco waved his wand around them and uttered, "_Muffliato._" Only then did he release the grip he had on Granger and relax his back against the brick wall of the dingy and broken-down house beside them.

"What is your _problem_, Malfoy?" Hermione hissed as she pushed his arm off of her and scooted a few paces away. "I told you that I knew where we were going and you should just trust me!"

He thought he might actually grind his teeth down to his gums if she didn't shut it. "What part of 'I'm the leader of this operation' did you _not_ understand? _I _am the one who decides what we do and when. _I _am the one who makes the plan and follows it through. And _I_ am the one who directs us when we're fucking apparating!"

"Oh, would you please stop cursing? It's so crude."

He uttered a wordless cry of frustration as he pulled his feet underneath him and stood, making sure to keep his back against the dark wall. He should have known that this wasn't going to go according to plan with Granger as his team mate.

Each of them had finally gotten their respective items gathered. Milly was prepared to protect the house, as she always was when Draco left on missions. The little house elf might be tiny, but she had powerful magic and was more than capable of protecting the Manor until Draco returned…or someone from the office came to inform her of his death. Regardless, Granger was ready and so Draco told her that they would be apparating a few streets over from Severus Snape's old house, the place where Pansy was supposedly residing.

"_You've got to be careful, Granger. Wood may have seen her there last, but there are a lot of empty houses on that end of town and she could be anywhere with anyone. I don't know what she's capable of right now, or what she might be up to. We'll just quietly sneak around until we find her, alright? It shouldn't be too hard so long as we don't draw any attention to ourselves."_

"_Malfoy, you talk to me like I've never done anything dangerous before."_

"_Right. Well, let's go then."_

"…_you don't expect me to actually hold on to your arm, do you? I can apparate on my own, thanks."_

"_Granger, don't test me right now. We have to make sure we stay right with each other. I don't want to touch you either, but it's necessary for just a split second."_

"_Fine."_

"_On the count of three, I'm going to take us there."_

"_Wait…why you? I got my license to apparate before you did."_

"_I'm the fucking __**leader**__, so I'm going to __**lead**__."_

"_Malfoy, I really think I should. We both know that I'm more competent than you."_

"_Sod off. One…two…three…"_

And then it had all gone to shit.

Draco had only ever apparated with someone else a few times – it was a bit more unpleasant than going by yourself – but he had never apparated when two people were trying to direct the destination at the same time. It was a wonder one of them hadn't splinched something off somewhere along the way, what with Granger trying to put them in a different alleyway than Draco. It was terrible.

He paced back and forth in the shadows for a second, his hand on his forehead, trying to calm himself down before he did something he would regret. When he chanced a look down at her, Granger was still halfway crouched, her back against the wall, regarding him with shadowed eyes. It was even more frustrating that she seemed just as calm as could be.

With a finger pointing perilously towards the road they had just apparated rather loudly onto, Draco said, "I hope to Merlin that nobody heard that, Granger, because if they did we're probably fucked and we'll have to start all over once Pansy high-tails it out of here. She's like a bloody greased-up pig when she wants to get away."

She sighed. "Would you_ please_ watch your language? I understand that it was a mistake, but you don't have to be so foul-mouthed all the time. It doesn't make you seem like a tough guy."

"A tough – are you serious? You think I care what anyone thinks about me?"

She stared at him for several heartbeats. Draco narrowed his eyes as she tilted her head, her own eyes flashing briefly in the light of the half-moon above them.

"Yes."

His mouth fell open slightly before he grasped the familiar cloak of anger and drew it about his shoulders like a security blanket. She didn't know him from Adam. She was making assumptions, that was all. The molten grey of his eyes reduced to slits as he stared at her.

"You know nothing."

Without giving her any time to respond, he stepped quickly to the edge of the alley, his ears straining for any sound. Only the distant drone of cars and the occasional howl of wind through an empty passageway met his senses. He pulled his wand out and pointed it a few feet in front of him. "_Beastia amicus." _ A small cat with fur the shade of shadows materialized on the sidewalk and looked up at Draco expectantly. He jerked his head to the east and the feline took off, looking like it had suddenly spotted a mouse and had given chase. After a few minutes, the little thing came bounding up the opposite side of the alley and pawed at Draco's feet. He bent down and picked up the cat, cradling it in his arms, absorbing the images directly from the cat's mind with his legilimency.

The image of a window glowing with a soft yellow light floated through his head followed by the familiar images of the outer structure of Snape's old house. So, she was there after all. That made this whole escapade much easier. He gave the cat a scratch behind the ears before uttering, "_Finite incantatem_."

"I must admit, that was pretty impressive."

Draco stiffened as Hermione stepped up next to him when the cat disappeared into thin air, the spell dissipating.

"I've seen familiars, of course, but I've never seen anyone use them to gather information in such a direct way. It was quite clever."

"You sound surprised," he muttered dryly.

He could feel her hesitate and figured he probably didn't want to hear what she was going to reply with, anyway. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the hood of his cloak and flipped it over his head, hiding the tell-tale blond locks from view. Malfoys were generally too easily identified. The soft whoosh of air told him Hermione had done the same. Equally good, as most of the Wizarding world knew her and her companions on sight. You didn't help destroy the Dark Lord and go unrecognized.

Together, they turned onto the sidewalk. If it were anywhere else, they would look like two friends simply going for a stroll, but here Draco felt they looked far too conspicuous. No one ever came to Spinner's End anymore. His silver-grey orbs constantly shifted from side to side, taking in their surroundings. It had been a long time since he had been here – and for good reason. This area of town had been unsightly _before _the war; he couldn't count the times his mother had asked Severus why he didn't move to a more aesthetically pleasing neighborhood, but the old Potions master had been quite content in his family's home. Now, no one lived here at all. The houses had fallen even further into disrepair, some of them completely caved in. The sidewalks were cracked in most places, weeds attempting life through the fractures. Here and there old newspapers were being swept around by the wind. The stench of the river invaded the nostrils of any who passed through.

Two people walking down the sidewalk definitely would look suspicious to any prying eyes.

The hair on the back of Draco's neck prickled as they neared the old house. This was the most tense part of any mission – the suspense, the waiting for something to happen. His grip on his wand tightened and out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione's arm flex, too. He didn't doubt her capabilities in battle, she did help defeat You-Know-Who and his followers after all, but it had been many, many years since Granger had been in a situation this tense and deadly. How had the years of peace affected her reflexes?

Draco held his wandless hand out in front of Hermione to halt her, then lifted a finger up to his lips to indicate silence. She rolled her eyes, but nodded her acquiescence. The faint crackle of a television set whispered out of the house. There was no way Pansy would be so careless. It was obviously a trap. He pointed to the back of the house. There was a garden in the back with a small stone path that led up to a door that opened into the kitchen. Draco had spent a lot of time in that garden as a child, playing and occasionally sneaking back inside to get more cookies before retreating again to the outdoors. As they rounded the house, though, there was no garden. The soil was blackened, evidence of dark magic on the earth. Nothing would ever grow here again.

A small intake of air sucked through Granger's lips. Draco cut his eyes over to her. She looked…sad. He mentally rolled his own eyes. _Women_. It was just a patch of dirt. He touched the tip of his wand to the iron metal gate and it silently swung open, allowing them entrance. Pieces of a once-majestic fountain lay strewn about the path leading to the kitchen door. Hermione whispered some spell and waved her wand in a broad circle over the ground. Nothing happened. Draco raised an eyebrow when she met his gaze and she just shook her head, waving him on with her hand.

They gained the door without incident. With his wand pointed at the lock beneath the handle Draco mouthed, "_Alohomora_." The quietest of clicks indicated the spell had worked. He frowned as he stared at the handle. No traps? Not even a warning spell? There was definitely something going on here.

He flinched when Hermione touched a hand to his shoulder. She pulled on his arm gently, urging him to lean over, and whispering into his ear, "Something's wrong." He fought back a small shiver at her closeness and straightened back up quickly, brushing at the sleeve of his cloak, before turning and aiming a level stare at her.

"Obviously," he mouthed back and she narrowed her eyes in indignation. He turned back to the door and took a deep breath. Well, there was nothing for it. There was no telling what was on the other side of the door, but there was nothing else they could do but go on in. Maybe it was just Pansy and she was careless. Maybe the rumors were true and she wasn't mentally stable any longer, all of her dreams crashed and broken at the defeat of You-Know-Who. Maybe there was a dozen evil wizards waiting inside to kill him and Granger.

With a firm nod to himself and his wand arm pointed steadily ahead, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.

At first, he couldn't see much of anything. The only light was a slit of warm glow outlining a door about twenty-five feet away. The house was large, dark, and it looked abandoned. He stepped inside, placing one foot carefully on the tile floor. Half-expecting something to blow up in his face or at least some loud alarm to sound off, he tensed. Nothing happened. Huh.

Slowly, he advanced the rest of the way into the kitchen. Casting his eyes about, it was more than obvious this room hadn't been used since Snape was last here. The paint on the cupboards was beginning to peel, the wallpaper following suit. There was at least an inch and a half of dust on every available surface. He brought his arm up to his nose. A sneeze right now would not be beneficial. Smoothly stepping around the pieces of a wooden chair in the floor, he came up to the doorway that allowed access to a long and dark hallway.

If memory served, the rooms directly to his right and left were a lavatory and a library, respectively. The door ahead of them, the one outlined in golden light, was the sitting room and the very front room of the house. He spent a brief moment looking up the stairs to his right that passed over the bathroom. Should they check upstairs first? Turning to look at Granger, he blinked at her sudden nearness. He hadn't expected her to follow him quite that closely. He pointed first at her chest, then above his head. Her lips pressed tightly together and she shook her head. Draco was in no mood for arguments. He put his hands on her shoulders and physically steered her to the steps. She turned and pointed sharply at the door behind him.

_Merlin's saggy left nut!_ He wanted to scream at her so badly. He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger. How could he silently tell her that if there was anyone in the sitting room, they would surely scream when he and Hermione entered the room, alerting anyone else who could be hiding upstairs, but if they both went upstairs someone could come into the lower level of the house without them knowing and then they would be caught by surprise? She was being impossible.

Once more he pointed to her chest and then the ceiling. He watched her nostrils flare but finally she turned and silently crept up the stairs. His shoulders sagged with relief. If they made it through this partnership without killing each other, it would be a miracle.

* * *

_What a jerk._

Hermione's hand was steady as a rock as she slowly and carefully climbed the steps to the upper level of what was once Severus Snape's house. The faded rug under her feet was coated with dust and dirt from years of neglect. Why did she need to come up here, anyway? It was obvious which room was occupied. She was sure that Malfoy just wanted to be thorough, but he should do his own dirty work, literally.

It was even darker on the landing, the glow from the light downstairs not able to penetrate this far into the darkness. "Lumos," she muttered and she held her wand a bit higher, trying to chase away the shadows. There was a long hallway that seemed to run the length of the house, a myriad of doors opening off to the sides. Great. _Why couldn't Snape have lived in a smaller house? _She fought back a scream as she walked right into a spider web. _Or at least a cleaner one…_

Scowling at her own foolishness, she began to walk down the hall. The first doors to the right and left were both open. She peered inside, the stunning curse ready on the tip of her tongue, but both rooms were empty. One was full of books from floor to ceiling, but she tore herself away and continued on. A bathroom to the right was empty save for the scuttling of mice running from her intrusion. She hurried on. Hermione was brave and intelligent, but she didn't like mice, spiders, or any other little crawling thing.

There were two guest bedrooms next, each empty and dusty, just like the rest of the house. She was just about to turn around, thinking this had all been a waste of time, when she pushed open the last door and discovered what was obviously Snape's bedroom. It was understated elegance. Tapestries hung on the walls. The color was too faded to make out, but the pattern of one was a large, intricate Slytherin crest. Hermione contemplated it for a moment. Despite all of Snape's shortcomings through life, he had ended up being a good guy, fighting for their side the whole time. It had forever changed the way the world viewed the Slytherin house. They were ambitious and cunning, absolutely, but the darkness that had plagued that house had been lifted. It had brightened all of Hogwarts indefinitely.

Curiosity overrode her haste to get done as she walked around the room. The bed was a large four-poster, the canopy overhead still retaining some of the deep green pigment. It was rather beautiful. The desk against the far wall looked particularly inviting. Shining her wand over the wood, Hermione began to sift through the contents. There were several papers, the writing faded over time, the paper course to the touch. A few of them looked to be potion recipes of some sort. A dried-up ink well was tipped over on one side, broken quills strewn around it.

She pulled open a drawer and was momentarily stilled. It was a picture, figures moving lazily beneath the cover of dust. She wiped it off on her cloak and held it closer to the light. It couldn't be…but it was. Lily Potter, no older than fifteen, stood under the arm of who could only be Severus himself. Lily looked comfortable there, with her old childhood friend, smiling up at Hermione with a benign smile. Snape looked…happy, happier than Hermione had ever seen him in life. He held one hand up in a lazy wave. They were dressed in their school uniforms, Hogwarts standing proudly in the background. She pocketed the picture in her bag. Harry would love to have it, she was certain.

With a sigh, she turned and made her way back to the door. As she headed back down the hallway, she realized that the house was missing something that was present in just about every wizard's home: portraits. The walls here were completely empty. Snape had surely had family members that he would have hung here…odd.

She shook her head as she stepped down the stairs. Draco was waiting at the bottom, his wand still aimed towards the backlit door. His posture was tense and he raised his eyebrows questioningly at her. She shook her head. He didn't need to know about the picture.

Once she had joined him on the floor, he nodded his head towards the door. Hermione raised her wand again, extinguishing the light. She fervently hoped it was only Pansy beyond the door. It would be so much easier for the both of them to subdue one witch than an entire group of deserters. It would still be difficult. If Pansy _was_ here, she would be terrified, and people fought more desperately with fear in their hearts. Draco had warned her that their query might be mentally disturbed. He had explained all about how Pansy's entire life she had been groomed to be a Pureblood socialite wife and how she had been so enamored with Draco for so many years, wanting him to rise through the ranks of Death Eaters to take his place in Voldemort's inner circle. She shivered at the thought. What kind of person could want to live in such darkness?

She felt her heart leap into her throat as Draco reached out and turned the doorknob quickly, busting into the room with a bang. Hermione followed right after, her eyes darting all over the room searching for threats. At first, she thought the room was empty. The TV screen flickered off to the side, battling with the lamp for color. It gave an odd, surreal quality to the room.

Draco lowered his wand to his side and took a few steps towards the couch that was pushed up against the wall beneath the windows. Hermione followed his movements with her eyes. She gasped when she found the small form on the couch. Was that Pansy? She looked so…broken.

She brought her wand down and stepped forward, but Draco held his hand up telling her to stop. Her brow furrowed in confusion, but she stopped all the same.

"Pansy? Pansy, can you hear me?"

Draco's voice was so soft, so…gentle. He must really care about his old friend, more than he had admitted aloud. Hermione chewed on her bottom lip with her teeth when there was no response. She watched earnestly as Draco touched his fingers to Pansy's neck and she knew by the fall of his shoulders that the girl was dead. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest for the blond wizard in front of her. They may not be friends, or even capable of being nice to each other, but Hermione knew intimately the pain of losing someone. No one deserved that.

Draco straightened his back and looked down on his old childhood friend. _Pansy's dead. She's gone._ It didn't really register in his mind at first. Surely, she was just sleeping. She was a deep sleeper, wasn't she? But the more seconds ticked by as he stared at her motionless form, the more he knew it with certainty. She was gone. Her skin was pale, paler than it had been in life, and she was so skinny; it looked like she hadn't eaten well in months.

A slight lump began to form in his throat as he reached out to place a hand gently on her forehead, but he swallowed it down. There wasn't anything he could do. His eyes spotted a blanket on the back of the couch and he reached for it, pulling it down and over the body of his friend.

"Malfoy," Hermione called, not unkindly, "just a moment." She walked up next to him and he instinctively shifted slightly away. She pretended not to notice as she held her wand over Pansy's body. Draco noted the slight quiver to her movements and his eyes looked sharply at her face. His lips turned down in a frown as he watched a single tear slide down the flawless skin of her cheek. Why would she cry for a girl she didn't even know? When her wand lit up, he jerked in surprise.

"What are you doing to her?" he asked, his voice rough with suppressed emotion.

"Relax, Malfoy. I'm just doing a simple incantation to try and determine the cause of death." Her voice was a whisper of sympathy in the room. "If the cause was magical, the light will…" Her words faded away as the glow morphed from a light yellow to a dark red, the new color blazing with a sinister feel. Chill bumps erupted along Draco's skin. The crimson light reflected into Hermione's face, turning her look of compassion into one of a burning indifference. It was a frightening effect.

Draco finally found his voice. "What does that mean?"

Hermione answered in hushed tones. "The Killing Curse."

A cold wash of fear bathed Draco from head to toe, his mouth suddenly dry as a wasteland. _The Killing Curse_. He swallowed several times, trying to coat his scratchy throat so his vocal cords would function.

"Can you see – "

"No, I can't discover who cast it. There's no spell for that." She took the blanket from Draco's hand, and he realized he had held it aloft the entire time. With more care than he anticipated, Hermione spread the faded covering over his friend.

Draco's sense slowly came back. They were in the midst of a mission. They still had to do what they came here to do. Silently apologizing to his now-dead peer, he swiftly reached under the throw and pulled a few hairs from Pansy's head. His hand was shockingly steady as he reached into an inner pocket of his cloak, pulled out an empty flask, and deposited the hairs inside. He wiped his hand on his slacks when he was finished.

He looked up to find Hermione staring at him, her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes too big in her face. "Are you okay?"

A snappy retort flew to the tip of his tongue, but he choked it down. "Yes." He finally unfroze and began to move. "We need to get out of here. Do you see her wand?"

Hermione's eyebrows drew down in confusion, but she turned around to search. "Over here." She picked it up and handed it to Draco. "What are you doing?"

"_Priori incantatem_."

As they watched, a smoky dark mark protruded from Pansy's wand and rose into the air, soon joined by two more.

Hermione gasped. "Dark marks? But why?"

Draco nodded and then placed the wand down on the coffee table near the couch. "It means what I always assumed." He looked Hermione in the eyes. "Pansy held onto her obsession with the dark arts, with the Dark Lord, until the very end." He stepped by his partner and walked to the front door. Turning once to look at his old friend one more time he said, "She couldn't let it go. She cast that spell over and over and over, hoping that someone would come to her, that someone would still answer the call." He shook his head in regret. "The Remnant don't use that mark any longer, even though most of their leaders still have it on their skin." His right hand began to reach for his left forearm before he noticed the movement and jerked his arm back to his side. That was a part of his past he couldn't escape from. He was marked. He would forever be marked. The death of the Dark Lord hadn't erased the symbol of loyalty, forced or otherwise. It had faded over the years, but it was still easy to tell what the scar was, and no amount of spells or potions could erase something so dark.

"Let's go."

Without checking to see if she was following, Draco opened the front door and left that forsaken house as quickly as he could without breaking into a full-on sprint. The soft patter of feet preceded Hermione as she caught up and matched his stride.

"What are we going to do now?"

"What we're supposed to do. We'll spend tonight at the Manor and get on a plane for the U.S. tomorrow."

"But, Malfoy, what if someone in The Remnant killed her? Wouldn't they be confused as to why she, being me, would be there alive?"

He shook his head.

"It wasn't The Remnant, Granger."

She looked at him, her eyes studying his face carefully. He looked determined, not a trace of sadness or pain on his face. He was either trained in masking his emotions exceptionally well, or he was far removed from his humanity. No one could see their oldest friend dead and not feel _something_.

"How do you know it wasn't them?"

His eyes shifted to meet hers and the emptiness within the grey made her heart drop into her gut. What horrible things had this man witnessed to cause him to retreat so far within himself that he could so easily feel nothing?

"There were no burns on her face."

Her eyes widened fractionally. "Burns?"

He nodded and turned his gaze back to the front, though she noted that his eyes were never really still. He constantly looked around them, checking for threats of any kind.

"Yes. The Remnant burn their victims' faces. Usually they brand them with their symbol, but sometimes they get carried away and burn off all of the skin and most of the muscle."

Hermione's stomach roiled against the thought of such cruelty, such barbarism.

"And they don't use the dark mark as their symbol?"

"Yes and no. The serpent is still included, but instead of protruding from the mouth of a skull, it is coiled around a life-like heart." He turned down the same alley they had started in. "If they have it tattooed on their arm, the heart appears to beat while the snake repeatedly bares its fangs."

"That's horrible."

He didn't answer; he only held his hand out and waited. It was easier this time to place her own hand in his. It had barely been an hour since they had left the Manor, but Hermione didn't hate Malfoy quite as much as she had when they left. He was still an incorrigible, controlling git who thought too much of himself, but he was also a person who had lived an emotionally unstable life with too many dark expectations. He had lost just as much in this war as others had, even if his family had been on the other side.

He wasted no time; pulling her along with him, he turned on the spot and released her hand as soon as they apparated to the end of his street.

She opened her mouth to call after him as he took long strides, quickly clearing the distance to the Manor, but she let him go. There would be time to talk about what had happened, if he ever would open up, anyway. Somehow, she doubted he ever would. Her lips parted in a soft sigh as she began to follow him.

A soft rumble of thunder resonated from above, and she cast her eyes up to the clouds. They were thick and nearly black, completely obscuring the moon. She hurried her steps. If her hair was exposed to rain, it would frizz for hours and no amount of charms or hair products would fix it. Another peal rang out and she broke into a slight jog. Draco was no where in sight as she started up the front walkway, the large gate swinging closed behind her. She looked up at the Manor and the breath left her body in a whoosh. She had never seen it from the outside like this. When she was last here – the only other time she had been here – she had been far too afraid to take notice of the façade of the overly large residence. It was incredibly foreboding.

Maybe it was just the storm brewing overhead, but the stone abode seemed to scream out the horrible deeds that had taken place within, like the darkness had been absorbed into the very foundation of the place. She averted her eyes from the gloomy, dark windows and suppressed the shudder that threatened her spine. Her feet strained to turn and run, but she forced herself to open the entrance and slip inside, closing the heavy door behind her. A warm sensation shot up her back where she leaned against it and she yelped, jumping away from it.

"Sorry, Mistress Granger! Milly only activate protective charms!"

Hermione held a hand to her chest as she caught her breath, her heart attempting to fly out of her rib cage. "Oh, it's okay, Milly. It just surprised me is all." She climbed the stairs up to where the house elf stood on the landing. "Did Malfoy already come in?"

Milly nodded. "Yes, Mistress Granger. Master Malfoy is already in his room. Would you like something to eat? Milly knows it is late, but Mistress Granger might want a snack?"

Shaking her head and flashing the elf a polite smile, Hermione began to walk down the hall towards the spare room. "No, thank you, Milly. I'm very tired. I'll just go to bed."

"As you wish, Mistress Granger. Milly will have breakfast ready when you wake!"

Hermione could only nod as she opened the door and practically fell into the room. She was exhausted physically, emotionally, and mentally. She tossed her bag and wand onto the bedside table and quickly shed her clothes, falling into the bed with only her bra and panties on. Too tired to change and too tired to care, she was asleep within minutes, all thought of scary houses, storms, and grey eyes fading farther and farther away.

* * *

Draco Malfoy sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows braced on his knees, his hands cradling his head. Locked away in his room, he allowed the pain and shock to wash over him. He hadn't known what to expect when he found Pansy, but for her to be dead…

A sharp pain shot through him at the image of her lifeless body.

_Pansy…_

He may have never loved her in the way that she wanted him to, but he had cared for her as a friend, the closest friend he'd ever had.

His hands fisted into his own hair, pulling at the blond strands.

"GAH!" he yelled out and he slammed his body backwards onto the mattress. He wasn't going to be able to sleep with that rampaging through his mind. He rose off the bed and moved with angry strides to the cabinet in the corner of his room. The dim glow of the pensieve within emerged onto the floor as he pulled apart the two wooden doors. Making sure to retain the important memories that he would have to tell Potter about, Draco pulled the wrenching images one by one from his mind and tapped them into the swirling gaseous mass of his recollections.

_Much better_.

He hadn't understood, at first, why Severus had given him a pensieve for Christmas all those years ago, but with each day that passed he understood more and more just how much he and his late godfather had in common. Dark secrets, painful memories…these things they shared.

Draco climbed into his bed, folded his fingers beneath his head, and stared up at the canopy. Tomorrow he would be boarding a plane with Hermione Granger. He would be on his way to the United States for the most dangerous assignment he'd ever had.

His eyes slowly closed as he enacted over and over all the different ways he was going to kill any member of The Remnant he could get his hands on.

Revenge plagued his dreams all night long.

* * *

A/N: Hi, there! Thanks everyone for the awesome reviews so far. I'm glad you all like this! I just wanted to say that the "familiar" spell I used is just Latin for 'animal friend.' It's a bit obvious, I know, but I thought it was kinda neat. Keep the great reviews coming! :D

-Running


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